


Drabble Dump(ster Fire): Summer 2019-Ongoing

by Vexatious



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bittybones (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Underfell (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Underswap (Undertale), Annoying Dog (Underswap), Chain Bittybones - Freeform, Creampie, Ecto-Genitalia (Undertale), Ecto-Penis (Undertale), Ecto-Vagina (Undertale), Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fisting, Lamia Bittybones, Mamba Bittybones, Masturbation, Multi, Oral Sex, Tropes, Underfell Papyrus (Undertale), Underswap Papyrus (Undertale), Underswap Sans (Undertale), Vaginal Fisting, Vaginal Sex, gaping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2020-07-31 07:34:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20111470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vexatious/pseuds/Vexatious
Summary: A collection drabbles requested from Tumblr and Ao3 comments. NSFW requests will have an addition to the title and a note at the beginning of the chapter for those who would prefer to avoid them. Content will be tagged by chapter.My Tumblr:vex-bittys





	1. MINE!

**Author's Note:**

> Requested: A Mamba (SF!Sans lamia) meets another Mamba who is being fostered by his caretaker.

You never regretted your decision to adopt your Mamba. You knew that very few adopters could handle the handsome lamias’ over the top attitudes, but you adored your Mamba’s confidence and unapologetic ego.Your obvious and genuine admiration of Mambas as a bitty species and your Mamba in particular led you to a risky decision though. You offered to foster a second Mamba for a friend who could no longer care for him.

Life can be full of expected twists and turns, and a recent divorce turned your friend’s comfortable, two income living situation into single income hardship. Your friend finally found a job that paid well, but it left them short on time to dote on their Mamba. The lack of attention showed too; the Mamba was flopped across a pillow listlessly when you arrived to pick him up, looking more like a Corny than a magnificent Mamba. Even his scales were dull, showing a clear lack of the usual Mamba preening.

Your friend wished their Mamba a tearful goodbye, thanking you profusely for helping to get him back to his former luster so that he could find a new, better owner who had the time to spoil him in the way that he deserved. You promised to keep them updated on the Mamba’s progress and not to adopt him out without their approval. The Mamba didn’t react to any of this, and his uncharacteristic behavior worried you.

You carefully rehearsed a speech to give to your Mamba while standing outside of your front door. You hoped he would be understanding of the situation, especially since he wouldn’t have to share any of his stuff. You’d purchased new items for the foster Mamba, items that weren’t cheap, but definitely of a lower quality than you usually purchased for your Mamba. Hopefully the difference in quality would appease him. It did not.

Once the outraged shrieking from your Mamba died down to an annoyed grumble, you attempted to show him the condition of the foster Mamba and explain why he needed to stay in your home. Your Mamba took one look at the interloper and whirled, slithering away to pout, thinking you had decided to replace him with some inferior Mamba. You sighed and helped the foster bitty settle into his temporary home. Your Mamba wouldn’t stay out of sight for long. Mambas never did.

You didn’t see your Mamba until the next day, and even then, you heard him shouting before you even caught a glimpse of a single shimmering purple scale. Rushing to the scene of the… well… scene, you discovered your Mamba waving his arms and shouting at the foster Mamba, who was curled up indifferently on his pillow. Your Mamba pointed at his own pillow, then the floor, and finally at you. 

“MINE!” he shouted right in the foster Mamba’s face. The foster Mamba didn’t react, and you hoped your Mamba wouldn’t explode from rage.

You separated the two lamias, trying (and probably failing) to explain once more that the foster Mamba was only living with you temporarily. You made sure to point out the quality difference between your Mamba’s expensive and therefore permanent nesting items and the foster Mamba’s less expensive and therefore non-permanent nesting items. He didn’t look entirely convinced, but he let the matter drop.

For about 2.5 seconds.

You barely had time to walk into the kitchen before your Mamba darted into the room, upturned the other Mamba’s plate before it even had any food on it, then grabbed the salmon that you were painstakingly shredding for the lamias and stuffed as much of it into his mouth as he could. The garbled sounds he made definitely sounded like shouts of “MINE!” which your Mamba confirmed by jabbing his tiny finger at his plate, the table, the food, and finally, you.

You hated to scold your lamia for letting his secret insecurities show, but you certainly weren’t going to let him bully a down on his luck lamia. You righted the foster Mamba’s not-as-nice-as-your-Mamba’s plate and carefully placed equal portions of salmon on each dish. With a stern warning to let the new Mamba eat in piece, you served each lamia his respective breakfast. Your warning ended up being unnecessary. The foster Mamba barely picked at his food, and you wondered if maybe a bath and some nice lotion would help him get back to his former glory and encourage him to make an effort. You were honestly beginning to worry about the little guy.

You filled the sink with warm water and drug store aromatherapy bubble bath, making sure not to use the special ceramic tub that belonged to your Mamba or the specialty bubble baths and lotions that went with it. You’d purchased a nice aromatherapy lotion at the same drug store, hoping that the soothing lavender scent would help the foster Mamba’s mood, but you’d barely settled the foster bitty into his bath when your Mamba raided the bathroom, knocking bottles of shampoo and lotion everywhere, gesturing at the entire bathroom in general and shouting (no surprise) “MINE!”

As you dried the foster Mamba on a plush (but not too plush) towel, you explained to your own Mamba once again that the situation was temporary. This Mamba was a visitor, just here to get some rest and relaxation before finding a new home. Your Mamba did not look convinced, but you stood your ground. Guests were not to be bullied in your house. When you mentioned this being _your_ house, the Mamba glared and grumbled “Mine.” 

You sensed that it wasn’t over, and you were right. Two weeks of being carefully informed of the ownership of practically every item in your home later, you’d finally made enough progress with the foster lamia to start looking for a permanent home for him. The adoption couldn’t come soon enough in your opinion. The little foster lamia needed a place where he could point at various items and declare them as his.

In fact, you had arranged for a potential adopter to stop by that very day. When the friendly person showed up, you brought out the foster Mamba to introduce them. The would-be adopter had just crouched down to introduce themselves when your Mamba exploded on the scene. Your Mamba grabbed the foster Mamba, glared daggers at the hopeful (and bewildered) stranger and shouted “MINE!”

That’s when you noticed the two Mambas’ entwined tails. _Oh._

You never regretted your decision to adopt your second Mamba, especially when the pair of them commandeered your closet for their clutch of eggs. You didn’t need your clothes, not as much as they needed a secure nesting place anyway. 

No, you never regretted your growing family of sassy, bossy, completely and utterly spoiled and adored Mambas.


	2. And They Were (room)Mates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested: Well, nobody requested it, but I wrote it anyway. This story takes place about five years after the events of [And There Was Only One (Extra) Bed](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14779074/chapters/43847437), chapter 24 of Drabble Dump (Summer 2018).

“I guess we’re really doing this,” Blue, the Sans from the Swap-verse, sighed to himself as his brother, affectionately known as Stretch and his boyfriend, sometimes not-so-affectionately referred to as Edge, strolled through the living room in the most ostentatious Hawaiian shirts that Stretch could find. Acceptable Dog woofed his agreement.

Blue straightened his posture as they approached the makeshift front desk that he and Stretch had thrown together for just such an occasion and proceeded to hammer away very unnecessarily on the bell that had been placed there despite the fact that Blue was already looking right at him! Blue wanted to groan, but he never did anything halfway, even this ridiculous hotel farce.

“WELCOME, SIR!” Blue greeted his brother cheerfully. “MAY I HAVE THE NAME ON YOUR RESERVATION PLEASE?”

Stretch leaned casually on the counter, causing the hastily (and poorly) constructed apparatus to sway. “i believe it’s under Chris P. Bacon.”

Edge snorted, and Blue struggled to keep his socket from twitching. Honestly though, he expected a pun, and the one Stretch picked was fortunately quite mild compared to what Blue had imagined. Blue tapped away at his laptop as if he were checking a booking in a database when, in actuality, he was typing “I can’t believe this is happening” in a blank word processing document. He scrutinized what he’d typed for a moment before turning his attention back to his grinning brother.

“SIR,” Blue said, biting off the word as if he couldn’t stand to address his brother with any sort of honorific in this situation. “THERE HAS BEEN-” Blue paused dramatically. If he was going to do this, he was going to do it right! “- A MIX-UP! THOUGH YOU BOOKED A ROOM WITH _TWO BEDS_, THE ONLY ROOM WE CURRENTLY HAVE AVAILABLE HAS. _ONLY. ONE. BED._”

Edge gasped outlandishly. Stretch laid the back of his hand across his forehead, swooning. “oh no, there’s only one bed? whatever shall we do? we shall have… to share!” Stretch prattled dramatically. 

Blue could no longer keep up the charade. This whole scenario was complete nonsense! Who bought into such campy tropes anyway? “OF COURSE THERE’S ONLY ONE BED! IT’S _YOUR_ BED! IN _YOUR_ ROOM! THE ROOM YOU TWO HAVE _SHARED_ SINCE YOU GOT MARRIED _THREE YEARS AGO_! I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU DO THIS EVERY NIGHT WHEN YOU COME HOME!”

Stretch patiently waited for Blue to finish his outburst, hand outstretched. Grumbling rebelliously, Blue handed him his fake room key. Stretch grabbed the key and pulled Edge up the stairs by the hand, ready for some relaxing husband time after Edge’s long, hard day at work.

“don’t forget our bags,” called Stretch from the top of the stairs. 

“SERIOUSLY?” Blue complained under his breath, peering around the desk. Sure enough, Stretch and Edge had brought a suitcase. Upon further investigation, it turned out to be packed to the brim with a surplus of the flamboyant Hawaiian shirts that the pair always wore on their “vacation.”

“YOU LIVE TOGETHER,” Blue said to his brother and brother-in-law, even though they weren’t in the room anymore. After a moment’s pause, he gasped softly in wonderment.

_Oh stars, they were roommates!_


	3. Netflix and Ill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested: A Chain (SF!Papyrus lamia) is ill and his owner takes care of him.

You didn’t need a SOUL bond to know that something was amiss with your Chain. He lacked energy. His scales didn’t shine. He rarely left the house to patrol or hunt. The one thing the SOUL bond did tell you, however, was that your Chain wanted to hide whatever was wrong. Not one single symptom leaked into the bond you shared with him. He managed to retain the sweet and soothing signature that you always felt in his presence, and you trusted his judgement enough not to question it. You should have known better.

All of your well meaning thoughts of respecting your lamia’s privacy vanished the moment you found him sprawled out on the kitchen floor, completely catatonic with dangerously faded scales. The connection between your SOULs flickered weakly, and you worried that you should have insisted on helping him earlier. You remembered the instructions Vex gave you about lamia bitty illness. Lamias rarely became ill, but when they did, they needed help to restore their magic in the form of protein and warmth.

You rushed to the microwave to warm up some broth, and while you waited for the little magic box to do its duty, you threw your Chain’s favorite blanket into the dryer and cranked it up to high heat. The microwave chirped for your attention, and you dipped a finger into the liquid to check the temperature before carrying the container and a spoon over to the prone lamia.

You pulled the big skeleton snake into your lap, cradling his head in the crook of one elbow. He was cold to the touch, a sure sign of poor health in lamias. The muted colors and translucent appearance of his scales meant that his magic levels were dangerously low, and guilt squeezed your chest. You signed adoption forms for this lamia bitty, a promise on paper that you would take care of him. How had he gotten so sick?

The stabbing guilt roused the Chain, and he nuzzled your chest, trying to comfort you despite his own suffering. Swallowing back tears, you offered him a spoonful of the wispily steaming broth, which he sipped at gratefully. You spoonfed your lamia a mug of broth in record time, too worried about getting warm, nourishing food into him to make sure he got a chance to savor it. As soon as he emptied the mug, you dashed into the laundry room to grab the now pleasantly heated blanket to wrap him in while he digested it.

Once you had finally bundled your Chain to your satisfaction- fully burrito-wrapped with only his flushed face sticking out- you transformed from caretaker mode into full-on mother hen lecture mode. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?” you asked him, using indignation to hide the fact that you might burst into tears at any moment.

The Chain managed to work one arm free of the dryer-warmed blanket to give you a comforting pat, but you pointedly pushed his exposed arm right back into the blanket cocoon. There would be no escaping limbs on your watch!

“didn’t want you to worry,” mumbled the blanket-swaddled lamia weakly. He shivered, though you could tell that he was trying to disguise the movement. You wondered how high the thermostat in your house went and if it would help your Chain if you turned it up to 90. 

“Well I’m worried now!” you said, exasperated. “How would you feel if you found me barely conscious on the kitchen floor because I didn’t want to tell you I was sick?” Your appeal to the Chain’s protective nature struck a chord; even though he didn’t say a word, you could feel his horror vibrating through the SOUL bond. “That’s how I felt,” you said, softly this time.

The Chain nodded thoughtfully. “would wrap you in warm blanket, sssspoon feed you ssssoup,” he grudgingly admitted before adding slyly: “maybe give ssssmooch on the head? watch Netflix?” He knew exactly how to cheer you up. You gave your Chain a smooch on the head and grabbed the TV remote, only queuing up a show you’d been meaning to watch together after he promised not to keep secrets from you anymore, especially when it involved needing extra care.

By the time you finished binge-watching two full seasons of the show, the Chain had fallen into a deep, healing slumber. The tip of his tail, which he somehow snuck out of the blanket without you noticing, was wrapped loosely around your ankle, and the color had already improved. You breathed a sigh of relief which turned into a yawn which evolved into you joining your Chain inside the blanket burrito for some much needed snuggles.


	4. Lending a Hand (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested: SpicyHoney, sub!Edge, consensual fisting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTAINS: explicit sexual content, language, oral sex, swallowing, vaginal sex, fisting (consensual), gaping, masturbation, creampie

The Great and Terrible Papyrus (alias Edge), Captain of the Royal Guard, commanded respect and demanded obedience from any monster who dared to cross his path. He enforced order and defended Underfell’s tyrant with swift brutality, but behind closed doors, he was an entirely different monster. When it came to sex, he preferred it rough, and he liked to be the submissive partner. Nobody in his universe could know his dirty little secret, so he’d found a lover elsewhere, a skeleton monster from a universe called Underswap- a Papyrus-type who called himself Stretch.

Edge’s usual style was submissive, sure, but under the influence of his heat cycle the imposing skeleton monster became downright needy… and utterly insatiable. As the dominant partner and a self-proclaimed lazybones, Stretch sometimes struggled to keep up with his desperate and demanding lover.

“MORE,” whimpered Edge, red tinged tears gathered in his sockets, “I NEED MORE.”

Stretch’s mid-afternoon couch nap- a necessity really- had been interrupted by Edge pawing at his pelvis and begging to suck him off. Edge’s eagerness and the flush across his cheekbones were all it took to convince Stretch’s magic to form a thick, throbbing erection. All the dedicated lazybones had to do was lay back and enjoy the feel of his lover’s mouth, which he did with a tired but satisfied groan. 

Edge ended up swallowing two hot, sticky loads from Stretch: one lovingly coaxed from his cock with Edge’s dextrous tongue and insistent sucking, the other pumped deep into his throat with Stretch’s phalanges digging into his skull to hold him steady. Finally fully awake and with the scent of Edge’s pheromones filling his nasal cavity, Stretch had pushed the battle-scarred skeleton onto his hands and knees on the floor. Edge was so slick with arousal that Stretch skipped foreplay and immediately buried himself in the silky heat of the tight crimson pussy.

Unfortunately, three intense orgasms left Stretch spent and Edge writhing in agonizing sexual frustration, his body burning with maddening unfulfilled need. Stretch wished he could do more; he hated to see Edge suffer like this during his heat. 

A thin strand of cum still connected Stretch’s semi-hard cock to Edge’s battered and gaping pussy. Stretch could see the angular skeleton’s fluttering hole, overflowing with honey-colored cum. His own cock wore a thick layer of his lover’s juices, and it twitched at the sight of Edge with his coccyx in the air and his face pressed into the carpet. Despite the tempting view, Stretch didn’t think he could manage another round of pounding that sweet little pussy.

“gimme a few minutes. i’m runnin’ on empty.” Stretch stroked his cock, tacky arousal sticking to his phalanges as he tried to resuscitate his erection to no avail.

“USE YOUR HAND,” mewled Edge, rubbing at his own clit in a futile quest for any sort of relief.

“babe, i don’t think fingering is gonna do it for you...”

“NOT YOUR FINGERS. YOUR HAND!”

For a comical moment, Stretch stared at his hand, not comprehending the distinction. What could Edge possibly mean? He clenched and unclenched his fist a few times before realization dawned on him.

“you... want me to... fist you?” A shiver traveled down Stretch’s spine; his cock responded to the mental image with another twitch. Fuck, the thought of fisting Edge turned him on.

“HURRY,” begged Edge, wiggling his coccyx enticingly. Even with his pussy gaping and dripping their mingled fluids, Stretch doubted his entire hand could fit, but Edge obviously wanted this badly. Stretch braced one hand on his lover’s hip, curled his phalanges into a fist and rubbed his knuckles experimentally against Edge’s greedy cunt, which somehow spread open even further to swallow him.

Slowly and carefully, Stretch pushed his fist into Edge’s pussy. He didn’t even need to ask if Edge was doing alright because the once proud skeleton panted and drooled with his angular features pressed into the carpet, occasionally managing a muffled scream for “MORE” or “HARDER” penetration. As Stretch’s wrist slid past his entrance, stretching his pussy walls to their limit and far past it, Edge’s words became a delirious babble.

Stretch could feel Edge’s pussy trying and failing to clench around him. The muscles couldn’t grip the girth of his fist and forearm. It felt amazing to feel Edge from the inside, to split him open so completely… and he hadn’t even started to move yet!

Breathing heavily, though from arousal rather than exertion, Stretch slowly pulled his arm backwards. Edge’s pussy dragged at him, reluctant to release such a delightful toy. Relenting, Stretch filled his lover’s hole with his fist and forearm once more. His cock twitched a third time, more powerfully than before, a response to the heady pleasure of sinking himself into his lover’s pussy.

Unwilling to put pleasure before safety, however, Stretch quickly checked on Edge.

“you alri-” he started to ask, but Edge’s demanding keening interrupted him.

“DON’T STOP!” Edge wailed, his clawed phalanges scrabbling for purchase on the carpet as Stretch shoved his fist as deep inside of him as it would go then immediately yanked it back and slammed it in again. Edge’s entire body rocked with the force of Stretch’s thrusts, and his tongue lolled from his open jaws as he panted and moaned, the rough fist-fucking finally satisfying his deep primal ache to be fucked into oblivion.

Stretch gripped one of Edge’s asscheeks to brace himself as he pumped his fist in and out of Edge, faster and faster until moans spilled from his own mouth. The rhythm, the sounds- moans, squelches, and breathless gasping, the sight of Edge’s juices, thick and sticky, staining his radius and ulna, and the feel of Edge’s ecto-flesh under his phalanges and around his fist brought his cock back to full throbbing life. Stretch could tell Edge was nearing his peak though. His own pleasure could wait.

Orgasm wracked Edge’s scarred body a moment later. His entire frame shuddered with the force of it. He didn’t squirt so much as he gushed fluid down his femurs and onto the floor, over and over again. Stretch didn’t stop thrusting until Edge’s cries and his cum finally subsided. Once he was sure that Edge’s heat had been well and thoroughly satisfied, Stretch pulled his arm free, grabbed his cock with cum-slicked fingers and began to jerk himself off.

The lanky skeleton kept his other hand resting on Edge’s round ass, staring at his gaping, glistening pussy and reliving every sweet second of filling his lover up over and over again and how good that tightness always felt squeezing his cock, milking out every single drop of cum he had to offer. It didn’t take long before Stretch came, shooting strands of hot, thick cum over Edge’s ass and into his fluttering cunt.

Exhausted, Stretch sat back and admired his  _ hand _ -iwork. The lazybones chuckled to himself. Too bad this would be a very inappropriate time for a pun… not that Stretch ever let that stop him. Standing up and holding out his clean hand to Edge, he quipped: “need a  _ hand _ ?”

The battle-hardened Royal Guard Captain couldn’t even form an indignant outcry. He sprawled on the floor, eyes clouded by waves of euphoria, drooling on himself with his coccyx in the air and their mingled cum running down his femurs.

Stretch sighed and pulled Edge into his arms, carrying him upstairs for a relaxing and very necessary bath. Usually, Stretch didn’t handle the cleanup, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave his proud lover such a literal and figurative mess. He only hoped his brother wouldn’t see him and get some ridiculous ideas about chores….


	5. A Holly Jolly Christmas (Party AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested: SFW Sci x Fell

What type of multiverse Christmas Party kicked off without a single drop of liquor to spike the eggnog? This one apparently. Red stared glumly into his drink, watching as Sanses and Papyruses from different universes intermingled, talking, laughing, and generally having a great time being buddy chum pals. Red felt incredibly left out as he nursed his glass of not-spiked eggnog.

Red made the rounds for the third or fourth time, eavesdropping on conversations that bored him nearly to dust. His brother, Edge had already alienated one of their counterparts without even trying, and a group of Sanses led by Blueberry was plotting some type of Christmas Party-verse militant takeover, which Red thought was a joke but secretly hoped would breathe a spark of life into the alcohol-free party. 

Red moved through every room, passed every table of unappetizingly healthy snacks, and took note of every single Sans and Papyrus present at the party, and he finally reached a conclusion. One of the invited guests had not shown up yet! Red had met the Scientist Sans at last year’s party, and he (unfairly) blamed his boredom this year on the absent skeleton. He thought they’d gotten along great, but what if the Scientist skipped this year’s party entirely?

Not that I’d miss him, Red thought sourly, though he missed him already. Sci had one of those adorably shy personalities… until he talked about his passion for research, mainly research on SOUL traits, but also research on the diversity of monster anatomy and human biology. Red should know, he and Sci discussed and debated those very topics for hours last time they’d met. It had been the highlight of his year…

Another skeleton bumped into him, spilling his drink, which didn’t bother him all that much, and interrupted his reminiscence, which bothered him a lot. He turned to give the Sans or Papyrus a piece of his mind only to find himself face to face with a very similar looking skeleton monster wearing a lab coat and glasses; Sci had arrived at last! 

Sci’s late arrival left him nervous and blushing, a look that suited him, in Red’s opinion. It also meant that he stood out like a sore thumb phalanx wearing his work attire instead of an ugly Christmas sweater like every other skeleton in the room. Fortunately, Red had a solution for that.

The gold-toothed skeleton waded into a sea of Sanses and returned a moment later with a festive headband that had mistletoe attached to it with wire. Red placed the headband on Sci’s skull. He admired his handiwork for a few seconds, then waggled his brows at Sci, whose blush deepened to a lovely royal blue. It reminded Red of the first time he saw the wide open expanse of the night sky.

“y’know what you’re supposed to do with mistletoe, don’tcha,” Red prodded with an exaggerated sexy grin and even more waggling of his brow bones.

“Actually,” said Sci, “this isn’t mistletoe. It’s holly, a mistake seen rather frequently this time of year. Most people don’t know that mistletoe has white berries while holly-”

The clack of Red’s skeleton kiss silenced Sci. Some Christmas parties needed spiked eggnog to create a festive atmosphere, but Red thought that perhaps this year he’d settle for a sprig of holly masquerading as mistletoe.


	6. The Mind of a Mamba

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note: A Mamba is a Swapfell Sans lamia bitty.  
Sometimes I think people forget that a Mamba’s sense of pride is his greatest weakness. It would never even occur to a Mamba that he was being deceived. Use this information wisely...

You remembered the day that you adopted your Mamba with clarity. Seeing the small but ferocious little divas striking supermodel poses and savagely pouncing on their catnip mice left an impression on you the minute you walked through the door of the bitty shop. The shopkeeper warned you that Mambas could be difficult and advised you that their egos were their weakness. You’d put that statement to the test and found it to be completely true.

The very first day of Mamba ownership, you decided that you didn’t really want to receive any insect or mouse “trophies,” so you took your regal little lamia bitty to the grocery store to pick out something that wasn’t still moving. Unfortunately, the Mamba had expensive tastes, tastes that your bank account would not be able to keep up with. You considered the problem and came up with a solution. 

His ego is his weakness.

You carried your Mamba over to the cheaper meats. Picking up a reasonably priced package, you showed it to your Mamba. He didn’t look impressed. Time to put your plan into action.

“I’ve heard of this,” you tell your Mamba. “Only those with the most refined palates can appreciate the nuances and experience the full flavor.” You waited, seeing if he’d take the bait.

The Mamba gave the meat a second, longer glance, then gestured for you to put the package of meat in the cart. No way would he admit to having an unrefined palate! Obviously he would love something so fancy! From that day forward, your Mamba ate the cheaper meat cut almost exclusively, always making sure that you saw him savoring it and never complaining.

Now you needed a new plan. Somehow you’d been elected by your closest friends to host a baby shower for your very pregnant bestie, and she deserved the uninterrupted spotlight at the party. Good luck telling your Mamba that though. He always demanded to be the center of attention, and you worried that he might go full-tilt angry toddler and lay claim to the gifts if you and the guests ignored him for too long.

How could you make your Mamba the star of the show and without actually involving him in the show at all?

His ego is his weakness.

* * *

“I thought you had one of those skeleton snake bitties… a lamia?” asked one of the party guests, sipping on the sparkling cider that you’d provided in lieu of alcohol.

“Yeah, a Mamba, right?” quipped another woman.

You smiled deviously into your own champagne flute of fizzy cider. “Oh, he’s outside in the yard. He probably won’t come in until later,” you tell them before going right back to cooing over tiny baby clothes and blurry ultrasound pictures.

That morning, after setting up tons of baby-themed decorations and rearranging your furniture into party mode, you’d taken your Mamba aside. “Can I ask you to do something for me?” you asked him. “Something very dangerous and very important?” Your Mamba puffed up at the words “dangerous” and “important.” That sounded like a task that only a regal Mamba could do! “It’s a task that only a regal Mamba can do…”

You Mamba stayed out in the yard long after the partygoers left. The sun began to set, and you finally coaxed the exhausted lamia back into the house. You comforted him, congratulating him on keeping the dreaded Gullible that you’d seen earlier away from the party. Gullibles may be wild and fierce, but they were obviously no match for your Mamba and must have fled in terror, you reassured him. He puffed and preened at being the obvious hero of a party that he missed out on, vowing to himself to hunt down any Gullible that dared to enter his territory in the future.

Of course he hadn’t admitted that he didn’t know what a Gullible was. Of course he didn’t want to be caught Googling the creature. As long as you didn’t see it, he must have frightened it off! No need to bring up his shortcomings!

His ego is his weakness.


	7. Inviting the Devil In (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Redtomatofan on Tumblr posted an amazing picture of Sugar as a nun with some sexy exposed panties, and I couldn't resist.  
WARNING: some language, some sexual content, implied fontcest (Horrorcest), religion kink, panty kink, teasing

_Vanity invites the Devil in_, the Sisters of the convent warned.

Surely such a trivial item couldn’t be considered vanity. He’d only made a simple bracelet out of polished beads, nothing fancy, nothing ostentatious, just a little trinket to wear and worry at. Sugar knew that his vows forbade him from having it, but he couldn’t bring himself to give up this one last pretty memento from his aspirant days. How could it represent vanity?

_Vanity invites the Devil in._

Whether or not the bracelet bore the blame, the Devil had been invited, and he had accepted that invitation with gusto. The skeleton demon loomed over Sugar, who promptly collapsed to the ground in fear. The fearsome creature was terrifying tall with broad shoulders, sweeping ram’s horns, bulging muscles… and an admittedly handsome visage. Sugar looked away only to find his eyelights resting on the single article of clothing that the demon wore… a loincloth that left little to the imagination. The little it left was enough though, and Sugar’s cheeks heated at his lustful curiosity.

The demon sniffed, lowering itself onto all fours to stalk closer to Sugar. Sugar trembled, his blush deepening as he realized that the demon might actually be able to smell his arousal. Sugar didn’t dare move as the demon closed in, not even to pull his habit down to cover his exposed panties. He didn’t want to draw the demon’s attention to them though the burning blood-red stare brought an alarming sensation of pleasure from that area.

“B-begone, Devil,” stammered Sugar weakly, but the demon just laughed in a deep rich tone.

“ya don’t _smell_ like ya want me gone,” growled the demon in a voice that sent a delicious shiver down Sugar’s spine. The demon inhaled deeply again. By now the creature had crawled its way right up to Sugar and crouched over his legs. Sugar whimpered, but said nothing.

“ya don’t _feel_ like ya want me gone.” The demon’s mouth pulled into a grin that showed off an awfully lot of alarmingly sharp teeth, teeth that might… graze one’s bones… in a lover’s embrace. The wicked skeleton ran one sharp phalange along the very center of Sugar’s panties, and Sugar knew that he could feel the dampness and the heat.

The convent only allowed monsters to summon female parts, and that one pointy finger teased at Sugar as it slid between the outline of his pussy lips, staying chastely outside of the panties if you could consider that chastity. Sugar tried and failed to hold back a moan. It felt so good. He should be trying to escape, calling for help, doing anything other than waiting and panting and wondering what would happen next.

“ya sure don’t _sound_ like ya want me gone either. so which comes next? do i _look_ or _taste_,” the demon teased, licking his mouth with a forked blood red ecto-tongue. Sugar barely breathed.

“Don’t,” he squeaked.

“don’t?” asked the demon, pausing with his face so close to those lovely pink panties that his breath stirred the moistened fabric right over Sugar’s entrance.

“Don’t stop,” cried Sugar. Lying would have invited the Devil in, according to the Sisters. Lust invited the Devil in too, but at this point Sugar really didn’t care. Covering his face, he spread his legs wide…

… and invited the Devil in.


End file.
